


Cor Machina

by SummerNightmares (BlackDog9314)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Peripheral J2, Submerged narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/SummerNightmares
Summary: "Don't put your life in someone's hands, they're bound to steal it away."





	Cor Machina

Sometimes when Jared dreams, he dreams of machines.

They're titanium or rose-colored copper or at times even the dull, dark gray of oxidized silver, and they are always different. Some are complex, with moving cogs and dotted with levers and switches and small, round buttons shiny with the grease of someone else's fingers; others are functional and simple, not made of connecting parts but a part in and of themselves. The bare minimum of their corners is almost like art when Jared stumbles upon them in his dreams.

Where he finds them varies, too.

Sometimes they're outside his house in Austin, suspended above bright green grass as if by an invisible hand, idly spinning in the midday breeze. Sometimes they're in his bedroom next to his nightstand, and he can hear them pulsing with the dull hum of what sounds like a slow-moving car crash. If Jared closes his eyes and grabs fistfuls of the Egyptian cotton sheets draped over the bed, he can almost ignore the sound.

Perhaps strangest of all, though, is when Jared sees the machinery staring back at him in the silver glass of his bathroom mirror.

Jared always lifts his hands and touches his face, his chest, his eyelids, but the hulking thing of steel in the mirror doesn't move with him, it simply continues as it always has and likely always will. Its blocky middle is filled with churning gears, its grooves rusted and greased with oil that keeps them ceaselessly moving, moving, moving.

 _Is that me?_ Jared always asks, feeling horror seep through him from the soles of his feet and rolling up through veins that begin to throb and itch.

_Is that me?_

He asks again and again every time, but never hears his own words, and where his chest should be the gears turn on.

Jensen is never in these dreams, and whenever Jared wakes up he thinks that might be for the best.

If he were to look in the mirror with Jensen by his side, would he see two machines instead of one?


End file.
